


Hooked

by weirdlittlecookie



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, No PTSD tho, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Triggers, aaand I guess SHIELD's up and running again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:58:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1867170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weirdlittlecookie/pseuds/weirdlittlecookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve can't believe how lucky he is - Bucky has been feeling pretty good for a while now. He has his own place, he has friends and he has his memories.</p><p>But there's this thing between them that he's been ignoring since forever and continues to do so to the the best of his abilities.</p><p>His restrain is tested when Bucky gets one of his episodes. It's all very cute and weird and oh so frustrating.</p><p>Or </p><p>The one where Steve comes home and finds Bucky on a crochet mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Murphy's Law

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashurbadaktu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashurbadaktu/gifts).



> You could ask how I managed to get triggers and not PTSD. I don't know. This is pure and utter fluff with hand holding and other cutesy stuff that make you wanna barf rainbows. Enjoy!
> 
> This was for yarnzipangirl in Tumblr, I hope you like it! This is inspired by your awesome knitting headcanon <3

To say the mission hadn’t been among Steve's favorites is a gross understatement, emphasis most definitely on gross. He thought he’d pretty much seen it all before getting cannonballed through a huge alien made mostly out of _slime_ \- and that hadn't even ended up being the worst part. Oh no, the worst part is that he hadn't had the time to shower afterwards. The old lady from second floor doesn't soften at all under his usual polite smile and instead gives him an exceptionally disdained look on her way out. Steve can't blame her, the stench is potent enough to twist any face into a permanent sneer.

Steve closes his eyes, dead tired, and rests his head on the cool surface of the elevator door. Even Bucky has apparently found something better to do and is actively ignoring his texts. He suspects it might actually be the root of his foul mood, and he’s not even sure why, not like Steve is his best friend’s keeper. However, Bucky's phone has practically grown attached to his hand ever since he started feeling better. All Steve wants to know is whether his plants have been watered.

The door slides open and Steve tumbles toward his apartment, planning for a quick shower and then fully embracing the nap he'd been dreaming about for the past two days. He steps inside and with all the grace of his enhanced everything he trips, cursing as he hears the shield scrape the tapestry on his way down.  

Maybe he should just call it a day and stay there, wrap himself in the welcome mat. It definitely wouldn't be the worst place he's slept on. He's already assessing which shoe would make the best pillow when he notices the ball of yarn that had surreptitiously made him fall on his ass. It's actually one of many, and that makes even less sense - why is there yarn in his apartment? He hopes there's no aliens involved.

Steve gets up, cautiously, and walks further into the apartment. He pulls the shield in front of him, silently moving towards the living room. He steps inside and groans, dropping the shield when he's greeted by the sight of Bucky sitting on his couch with a crochet hook between his fingers, seemingly unaware of Steve’s presence. There are bags of yarn and finished pieces all around the small space, surrounding Bucky who looks like he hasn't gotten up for a while.

“Oh crap.”

 


	2. The many talents of Bucky Barnes

Bucky has been feeling better for nearly a year now, slowly but surely knitting his two pasts together with the help of a councilor Sam had recommended him. Bucky's smile has come back, the smirk and swagger soon after. There's obviously no erasing the past but there is acceptance, Steve knows, and he's relieved to see they're both working their way up to it. Bucky in some areas has even surpassed Steve, like when he picked up the modern lingo for the sole purpose of making Steve confused. It took him several days and Google to get insulted by Bucky calling him a cockblock.

For the deprogramming they have mostly Stark to thank for - he’d taken the existence of the Red Room apparatus as a personal insult and dug into it elbows deep until he found out what made it tick. And then subsequently made it un-tick. Steve might have hugged Tony. Tony told him not to mention it.

 

 

_"Seriously Rogers, never mention it. Never, ever again." Tony says, slowly backing away. The look on his face alone made it worth it. Tony moves to another work table before he speaks again._

_"However, there are glitches." He says, already getting distracted by something Steve would expertly describe as a pile of junk with wires._

_“What kind of glitches?” Bucky asks, posture relaxed but Steve notices the fidgeting of his right hand. He's worried too._

 

Tony had assured them there shouldn’t be any drastic triggers left, the kind that resulted in dead bodies and overthrown governments, but little things. Inconsequential things. Annoying things. Like when Bruce quoted his favorite line from War and peace and turned Bucky into a concert pianist with an inclination to play one single composition until passing out about a week later. It had taken them a day to realize detaching the cords wouldn't really make a difference to Bucky but the epiphany had still come too late for their sakes - Steve notices they all continue to hum pieces from Beethoven’s Symphony number 5. Or at least he thinks they are, Clint has been deemed tone-deaf.

Natasha had said the incidents - _"Oh Christ Nat, they're psychoses!" Bucky had yelled_ \- are crumbs left from the Red Room programming, the special abilities Bucky had needed for his missions. They would wear down and become voluntary abilities as long as Bucky got to work them out of his system, a process that ended in him eventually falling asleep from mental and physical exhaustion.  

 

_"With Bucky’s training and enhancements, that point will probably vary from a week to two, depending on how demanding the ability is. After that he should be fine, granted nobody kills him during the unwinding," Nat says, shaking her head to the side like she’s physically trying to get rid of an earworm. Steve can guess which one._

_“What about bodily functions?” Tony interrupts. “Cause, Bucky, no offence buddy but there’s no way I’m putting diapers to a grown man.”_

_Natasha gives him a blank look and says something about “decelerated metabolism” when Steve stops her._

_"He can stay with me," he says quickly, adding, "I've managed this long without killing him. I can handle it."_

_A pillow thumps against his head while Tony coos._

 

So far it had worked out pretty well. Steve makes sure Bucky is adequately hydrated and keeps him company. It had all been pretty uneventful, actually, if not counting the one time Bucky had remembered exotic dancing - _“Steve you can call it stripping”_ \- and a whole repertoire of choreographies to go along with it. And when Bucky had flopped on his lap Steve flailed so gloriously he accidentally knocked him unconscious. He still doesn't know whether that managed to move the talent under voluntary actions or merely postponed it and hell will freeze before he’ll ask. Bucky seems to guess what he's wondering though and just smirks at Steve when he dances along the radio.

He looks at Bucky now, sitting cross-legged on the couch, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an old AC/DC t-shirt (apparently they’ve been around almost as long as they have). His hair is pulled back in a sloppy braid that he learned how to do after deciding to keep the longer look. Steve likes it. He also likes that this doesn’t seem to be a reappearance of the stripper-Bucky because there’s only so much Steve can take today before his brain fries up completely.

Plunking down next to Bucky, careful not to disturb the yarn, Steve offers him a bottle of water. His eyes wander around the room and to all the finished scarves and hats lying haphazardly on the floor as Bucky attempts to drink without stopping his work. Steve lets out a low whistle between his teeth.

“When did you have to learn how to crochet?”

“Don’t remember exactly, something to do with the hippies and the 70's.” Bucky doesn’t slow down, doesn’t look up but Steve is relieved to notice he is aware enough to answer.  

Steve hums, watching Bucky handle the thread with the metal hand, the hook sliding smoothly against it. He’s not sure how long he stays there, mesmerized, but eventually even Bucky begins commenting him about the smell. Alarmed by his nose becoming accustomed to the sweet stench of drying entrails Steve leaves to take a shower, promising to check up on him after a few hours. Just before exiting the room he twists around though, realising why Bucky must've been in the apartment in the first place.

“Hey did you manage to water my plants before, y’know, turning into Betsy Ross?”

Steve ducks out of the room as a ball zeroes in on his head. He hears Bucky yell after him, “The cactus is fine - and definitely more charming than you!” 


	3. Going through the motions

Steve informs Fury on Bucky’s condition, his leave of absence recognized along the announcement. Bucky grumbles, not wanting to be a burden but Steve gives him a look, a very familiar look, that nips the conversation to the bud. _End of the line_.

Steve takes it on himself to organize all of Bucky’s creations into piles, wondering if there's enough throw pillows in Manhattan for all the covers. Bucky could give them as presents though, and Steve suggests as much.

“Tony wants an ‘I heart Iron Man’ hat," he adds, biting his lip to stop the chuckle when Bucky groans.

“Why did you have to go and tell him? I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

Steve shrugs, gathering all the hats into one pile. “Are you kidding? Think if either of us would’ve known how to do this in the old days. No cold nights for us!”

“I didn’t mind the alternative,” Bucky mumbles back, his eyes intently on his hook and thread. Steve sets the clothing aside, mouth too dry to say anything in return. He remembers the bed they used to share when it got too cold and he knows Bucky's gotta be lying at least a little bit.  

He had always felt guilty about needing more warmth and crawling in with Bucky, poking him with bony elbows and cold feet. Bucky had never complained though so Steve never pushed him on it, never told him he doesn’t have to. He still falls asleep against Bucky's shoulder on their movie marathons and just like before he's unable to tell Bucky he doesn't have to stay there.

He notices a wicker basket and grins at the sight. “Bucky, did you get yourself a little yarn basket?”

Bucky’s shoulders rise, his lower lip pushing out to pout, but he doesn’t say anything. Steve laughs, pulling the basket closer, preparing to go on till he sees the content. His eyes go wide and it’s Bucky’s turn to smirk, his tone purposefully nonchalant.  

“I hear they’re real popular in bachelor parties.”

“Just what kind of a mission was it?”

“Told ya Stevie, hippies.” Bucky laughs at his mortification, “Oh quit being such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude!”

“Yeah? Pick one up.”

Steve’s mouth falls open and he looks down at the basket. Only the fact his pride would forever be lost makes him pick up one of the crochet penises and Bucky gives him an appraicing look.

“Good one. Always figured you’d like a little fuzz.”

With Bucky still laughing Steve drops the thing back into the basket and shoves it under his coffee table, trying not to think Bucky’s hands around… yeah, when he sees something else under the table.  

There are multiple little crochet stuffies and it takes Steve a moment to realise they’re not just any stuffies - they’re little crochet Avengers dolls. Steve thinks he’s finally grasping the potence of retaliation as he begins placing the dolls in a row on the table, earning a death glare from Bucky. When it's clear Steve isn't relenting Bucky hunches back on the couch, resuming his work on the largest blanket known to mankind.

The dolls are small, no more than six inches tall, every single one dressed in the attire of the Avenger in question and accompanied by their weapon of choice - Steve with his shield, Natasha with a gun, Thor with his hammer, Hawkeye with a bow and arrow. Bruce of course is the weapon so he’s big and green and kinda angry, Steve notices, and Tony’s helmet is detachable. He picks up the one portraying Sam, trying to figure out how the wings can look so much like the real thing.  

“Aww Buck, if you wanted stuffies we coulda got you some.”

“Shut up.”

“They wouldn’t have been as cute though.”

“Don’t make me kill you, Rogers.”

Steve snickers, looking through the dolls again, impressed beyond words. After a beat he frowns though, noticing something.

“How come you aren’t here?”  

Bucky flinches and doesn’t say anything, not for a while. Steve would’ve probably missed the respond hadn’t he been waiting for it.

“Didn’t want to assume anything.”

Steve’s brows quirk up and then furrow down in confusion. “ _Assume_? Bucky, you’re part of the team, as much as anybody else.”

Bucky breathes out, his shoulders slumping as he does so. "Steve, come on.” When Steve’s expression doesn’t change he huffs in frustration. “I _tag along_ but that doesn’t exactly make me part of the team, does it? Not like I'm there every time, like now when you went to fight _aliens_.”

“ _You were off duty!_ "

“Not the point. Most of the time --- most of the time I feel like a nuisance.”

Steve bites his lip, beginning to see where Bucky is coming from - he's thinking about the triggers. Which. Understandable considering Steve's living room has turned into a knittery. "The piano wasn't that bad. No harm in a little classical music, except if you have to listen to Clint." He tries a light tone but Bucky is inconsolable. He shakes his head and offers Steve a sad, crooked smile.

"Even I know it was that bad. More than that, you're still freaked out about the dance-thing."

Steve's eyes widen and he loses his voice for a moment. It seems to offer Bucky confirmation to a question he hasn't asked, shaking his head slightly once more. It snaps Steve back into action and rush his words out.

"Yeah, but not because - I mean..."

"'S'okay Stevie, don't wanna talk about it." Bucky cuts him off and concentrates on his stitches again, practically emanating the need to be alone for a while. Steve gives him a quick squeeze on the knee, hoping the touch will assure him somehow, and murmurs something about needing milk. When Bucky doesn’t react, he stands up and leaves the apartment, heading for the park.  

_Most of the time I feel like a nuisance._

Steve runs a hand through his hair, tugging it in frustration. How can Bucky think that? He's been on countless missions with them, all of them, and proven to be valuable despite the triggers. None of them could judge anyway, not with their rag-tag assembly of personal issues. The fact Thor might be the most balanced one really says it all.  

And Bucky doesn't have anything to prove in the first place, least of all to Steve. He's always been there for him, pulling him out of fights that he's now, grudgingly, admitting would've taken him to the hospital or his own death bed. It had been Bucky taking Steve in after his mom died, caring for him during bouts of sickness and dismissing all apologies for not being able to provide. He'd even lent his body heat when necessary. The blush that had crept on his cheeks hadn't been there because of embarrassment though like Bucky had assumed, not even close.

_You're still freaked out about the dance-thing._

The memory of Bucky's weight on his lap, the slow grind, makes his palms sweat even now. He'd wanted to touch so badly it made him itch under his skin, twisting his stomach into knots and making him gasp for air like it was running away from him. When Bucky had closed the final distance between them, hovering just above his lips, their noses bumping, he'd  realised what he was about to do and overreacted, giving Bucky one hell of a shiner.  

There hadn't been a moment in Steve's life where he hadn't wanted just a little more of Bucky. Wanted him just a little closer, his hands just a little tighter around him. Bucky's smile always turned his day for the better, it still does, and he can only hope he's been able to do that in return. To lose Buck on that bridge was to lose himself and the fear of it ever happening again keeps him questioning his every move. It had him faltering before that last inch between them, all the reasons not to flooding him.

Even if he knew what he was getting into Bucky didn't - he was acting on a trigger and Steve would never take advantage of him like that. He hadn't when they used to share that narrow bed, when it had felt like his whole world had been fitted into that tiny space, and he definitely wouldn't now after the Red Room.  

Bucky's reaction had made him pause though - the sad smile seemed to run deeper than embarrassment. Maybe Bucky would've been okay with the kiss, at least in general, and now is under the impression Steve couldn't handle it, handle some new side of him. His stomach twists into another knot when he realizes he hadn't corrected Bucky.

He treads the paths faster than is normal, drawing unnecessary attention, but unable to curb himself. He’s let Bucky down and he feels smaller than ever. Moments like these make him wish he’d be more like Bucky, to be able to say exactly what he wants. _And he does want_.  

Hands shoved in his pockets he wanders deeper into the park, mind wracking for ways to fix the situation, to make Bucky realise how important he is to them, to him. If an all-out declaration of massive proportions would do it, Steve could man up and get right on it but he doesn’t think this is the time for that. Not yet. What he needs is a gesture, something subtle but still clear enough.

He finds himself on the other side of the park and notices a yarn shop, door invitingly open. Steve quickly reaches for his pocket to fish out a phone and hits speed-dial.

“Nat, hi, it’s Steve. Yeah, I know you know. Can you do me a favor? Put Tony on the line too. Actually, put everybody while you’re at it.”

Nat refuses first, just for the pleasure of annoying Steve. When he relents to run run his plan by her she hums approvingly and begins patching the others through, murmuring softly under her breath  "About time."

"What?"

"Nevermind Steve. I have Tony on the line for you."  

 


	4. The master plan

When Steve finally gets back to the apartment he finds his usual spot beside Bucky. He's still working on the blanket but beginning to show signs of exhaustion.   
“How’re you feeling?”   
Bucky sighs and rubs an arm over his face. “Getting there, maybe a day or two now.” His eyes glide over Steve and stop at the plastic bag he’s fiddling with. “What d’ya got there?”   
Steve smiles and pulls out the yarn, small batches of grey and beige and black and brown, and his very own crochet hook. Bucky quirks up an eyebrow when Steve organises his things in front of him, carefully flattening out the instruction sheet that he’s read at least a dozen times by now.   
“Steve whatever you’re doing you don’t have to.”   
“Shh, I need to concentrate or I’m gonna lose my count.”   
Bucky rolls his eyes but keeps quiet, focusing on his work and trying to stifle the yawn threatening to split his face in two. Steve hands him a bottle of water with a mix of electrolytes.   
Even though Steve considers himself to be a relatively crafty guy, there are moments when he seriously wants to hurl the stitching across the room, maybe tie it to a rock and see how far he can throw it from the rooftop. But then Bucky gives a small chuckle and leans in, guiding him till he gets it right again. Bucky still hasn’t asked what Steve is making, just curiously eyes him every now and again.   
When the next night rolls around Steve's work is coming along excruciatingly slow and calculates Bucky would already be done six times over. He's just about to voice his opinion when he notices he can finally see the pattern on the giant comforter and he forgets everything else. A warm smile spreads across face amd grows into a huge grin.   
“My shield?”   
Bucky shrugs but the tips of his ears are red. “Yeah, it’s an easy pattern and figured it represents you pretty well.”   
“My patriotism?” He muses but Bucky shakes his head.   
“The symbol ain’t about country. It’s about integrity and tenacity and bravery. What you've made it stand for.”   
"Bucky, I didn't realise you were such a poet." Steve aims for teasing but his throat is tight just like it used to be before an asthma attack. He knows Bucky hears it too, after being tuned into it for years.   
Bucky looks at him, his hook working unsupervised and perfect, and he gives out the impression he isn’t done saying what he needs to say. Another yawn breaks out though, the moment disappearing with it.   
Bucky slouches back on the couch, full attention on his work again. He looks drowsy, eyes closing for a fraction too long on every blink. The bags under his eyes are dark, his skin pale and cheeks more hollow than usual after all the strain the sleep deprivation has put his body through. Steve mirrors the yawn, tired himself. He continues his own work, staying alert on Bucky’s drooping form beside him.   
“I think I need to lie down,” Bucky says and Steve sprints to his feet instantly. “Mind helping me with the quilt, don’t wanna mess up my threads by pulling the thing over.”   
Bucky settles along the couch, stretching his legs as Steve carefully relocates everything.   
“Where do you want me to put this?” Steve says, gesturing to the quilt in his hands.   
“Just put it on me, almost done anyway. Like me.” He chuckles, smiling tiredly and half-lidded, until he gasps and flails.   
“What is it?” Steve drops to his knees beside him, hand lightly on Bucky's right shoulder. Bucky grimaces but seems fine otherwise, legs wagging under the quilt. “‘M fine, feet just fell asleep, is all.”   
Steve sits back, letting out a relieved laugh. “Oh the horror.” He quips with the driest tone he can manage. He brings his hands up to rub Bucky’s shins, tentatively running his hands over them in circular motions, quickening the blood circulation, before his brain picks up on the action and he freezes. Steve looks over at Bucky who’s staring back at him, brows high, hook frozen mid-movement. Heat begins to rise up the sides of Steve hides his hands in his lap and mumbles a soft sorry. He opens his mouth to make a joke but nothing comes out. None of his basic stuff really is for brushing off an impromptu foot massage. Steve thinks he should've had one anyway.   
Bucky takes a deep breath, his chest rising and collapsing ceremoniously, eyes locked on Steve’s. He licks his lip, bites the lower one lightly. “Why’d you stop? Come on, they’re still hurting.”   
Steve huffs, perhaps a little too forcefully, hiding some of the nervous energy into banter. "What am I, a lakey?"   
"I'm not the one kneeling on the floor." Bucky sing-songs, his eyes gliding over Steve's flushed appearance.   
Steve rolls his eyes but a smile is already tugging at his lips.   
"Fine, move over jerk." He comes to sit on the couch, placing Bucky’s feet on his lap before resuming.   
"Punk." Bucky responds, accompanied by a small appreciative noise that permeates Steve's skin and bones. It settles into his core, creating a warmth that expands to his every cell. He loses himself in the simple task and the next time he looks up Bucky is resting against the armrest, relaxed and fast asleep. Steve smiles through his yawn, knowing Buck will be out for about 24 hours now, and reaches over the feet still perched on his lap to grab his own little project.


	5. Unwinding

Steve wakes up when something tickles his nose. He moves his hand to rub the feeling away only to discover he can’t without dropping Bucky off the couch in the process. He has a vague recollection of deciding to take a nap before going to his own bed but it seems the two-step mission hadn't exactly succeeded. How he had moved from his spot from the other side of the couch to occupy the entire length of it, and the entire length of Buck while at it, is also a mystery.  

The couch is big, practical for a guy his size, but not big enough that he wouldn’t have buried Bucky half under him. The slow improvements in his consciousness continue to offer him more awkward facts about his current position and Steve makes the mistake of looking down.

Bucky is lying on his back, hands stretched out on top of him, chewed lips slightly parted. His braid has come undone and Steve tucks the loose hair behind Bucky’s ear, accidentally brushing the corner of his mouth. Bucky squirms in his sleep, groaning lightly, making Steve painfully aware of the way their hips have slanted against each other. The small blush he’d been sporting darkens and he moves his hands to slowly back off. He barely makes it through the weight shift when cold metal fingers dig into his throat, gripping tight yet not crushing.

Bucky’s eyes snap open, wide and confused until he focuses on Steve and the hand detaches. Steve bounces to the other side of the couch, gathering some of the blanket to his lap to cover an awkward side-effect of a full-body cuddle. Bucky moves to sit as well, running a hand over his face.  

“How long was I out?”

Steve checks his watch, surprised. “Only twelve hours, huh. Maybe you’re getting better at this.”

Bucky worries his lower lip, contemplating. “Maybe. Or maybe it was the 200-pound oaf squeezing my bladder. Which reminds me.” And he jumps up, disappearing into the bathroom and managing to return before Steve has thought of anything better than "what else did you notice" and “you’re the oaf”. Bucky crawls back under the quilt, snuggling to his side. After a moment of shuffling around he frowns, huffing exasperatedly.

“Looks like I can’t sleep without the 200-pound oaf that also substitutes as a human furnace.”

Steve, regaining some of his composure, quirks up an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me the Winter Soldier is getting a cold.”

Bucky shoves him with a foot. “Shut up and help me out here.”

Steve snickers but moves closer, only stopping when he realises what he’s about to do - cram himself into yet another tight spot with Bucky. His hesitation traps him in an awkward limbo of two poses, frozen in mid-motion and Bucky rolls his eyes that then quickly soften. “Come on Steve, we’ve done this a million times, stop being such a prude.”

“I’m not a prude!”

“Then prove it.” Bucky gives him his best wicked smile. “I promise your virtue will be safe.”

Steve hits him with a pillow but settles behind Bucky, stiff at first, but as Bucky pushes closer and is visibly shaking Steve gets over himself and puts one tentative hand over Bucky's waist. He keeps the touch light, as unintrusive as he can and it's... nice. More than nice. To his surprise Steve finds himself calm against the shivering frame, something he'd doubted to be capable of. The need to tighten his hug, to tangle his fingers with Bucky's, is still strong but at the moment easily sedated, exhaustion still weighing heavy on both of them. Whether he's able to do that in the future he doesn't know but he figures they can cross that bridge when they come to it. Proud of his resolutions Steve yawns, feeling sleep settling in once again, when he hears Bucky’s rough voice.

“Is that - is that what you were doing? Before?”

Steve opens his eyes, following Bucky’s gaze to the little crochet dolls still resting on the coffee table. Right next to his figure there’s a new addition, Steve’s addition. The small version of Bucky is dressed in his Winter Soldier uniform, hair made out of string and small blue buttons as eyes. Steve hums low.

“It’s not finished - the gang wanted to pitch in so Tony’s designing a metal arm for it. It'll have something from everybody.” Bucky stays quiet so Steve clears his throat and continues, “Tony’s gonna use some scrap metal from that bullet you took for him, I didn’t even know he kept it, and Nat has some star-shaped stud earring that reminds her of you. The others have something too. The arm is probably gonna look better than the doll itself but…”

“It’s perfect,” Bucky breathes out, squeezing tightly at Steve’s hand. His throat feels tight, keeping him quiet but Bucky doesn't seem to be expecting an answer. He shuts his eyes, pulling Steve even more snuggly around himself, brushing the knuckles against his lips. “Perfect.”

 

 


End file.
